Crash

I'm in hiding.

Last night, I heard a huge crash. I'd been waiting for it. I knew that whatever had been coming up the lift shaft had made it onto our floor. I grabbed the bottle I'd left by the bed and squirted bleach all over the door, walls, and floor of my room. Then I jammed myself into the wardrobe, where I'd left a bag of supplies. My only hope is that the things from below hunt by smell, and that the bleach confuses them. I didn't know what else to do.

I waited there, shivering in the wardrobe, my mind conjuring up terrible images. I heard thumps and bangs, but no screams. It died down for hours; my guess is that the creatures still go dormant in the day. They haven't come back yet. If they don't return by tomorrow, I'm going to try and go out and see what's happened. Maybe they'll have done some damage that might help me escape. Though that seems almost impossible now.

My sickness has passed, replaced by a dull, gnawing pain that fills my whole body. I drift off into vivid fantasies that last hours at a time. Hiding here, all I can see of my body are the backs of my hands. They look like old mince. I think I'm done for.